


Refill

by aishahiwatari



Series: Trektober 2019 [29]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Diners, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, James T. Kirk Angst, Love at First Sight, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 07:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: Jim's in love.Gaila accuses him of self-sabotaging by always pursuing the least available person in any given room.She’s possibly right in this case.(for day 29 of Trektober 2019, prompt: Love at first sight)





	Refill

Jim's in love.

Gaila accuses him of self-sabotaging by always pursuing the least available person in any given room.

She’s possibly right in this case.

Not always. Jim can make healthy romantic choices, honestly, he just tends to make terrible sexual ones.

And this one is kind of both. Jim’s working in a diner, because it’s the only job he could find that would work around his hours at the auto shop with Scotty. He opens the place, deals with tired commuters prior to their caffeine fix, works until after the lunch rush, and then goes to fix cars until he can’t keep his eyes open any more, and then he does it all again.

Somehow, in between that, he pays his rent and runs his motorcycle and manages to save, just a little. And he hates how long it’s all taking, and how many mornings he’s up before dawn without knowing what the heck the point of it all is, but frankly he doesn’t have a better idea, just yet, so-

He’s stuck.

He’s stuck, and he’s in love with a man who has barely made eye contact with him, who grunts a greeting, requests coffee, bacon and eggs, and eats in silence, glaring at his plate like it’s personally offended him. He’s never rude, just uninterested in any of Jim’s attempts at conversation, and he always looks exhausted, like he’s been up all night before he’s even really started his day, unshaven and rumpled. He smells good, though.

He’s also incredibly, outrageously, unfairly hot. He has broad shoulders and a trim waist, dark hair and expressive eyebrows, beautiful hazel eyes.

They’ve hardly spoken, but Jim just knows. They’d be perfect together.

Jim leans on the counter and sighs, staring at the booth in the corner where he always sits. There’s hardly anybody else in, so early, and everybody pretty aggressively minds their own business anyway, so he’s left alone to pine, blatantly.

His offered refills of coffee are always declined, but he tries anyway.

“No, thanks,” the guy says. He’s gruff and Southern and Jim wants to bathe in that voice, to roll around in it and purr like a happy cat.

He’s so pathetic.

Except the following week, he swaps a shift with Gaila so he can pick a car up for Scotty in the morning, and when he comes in, she says, “Your boyfriend asked about you.”

She doesn’t even look at him as she says it, still texting, like it doesn’t fucking matter. “He what?”

“Your boyfriend. You know, the grumpy one? He asked- is Jim alright?”

“He knows my name?”

It comes out far, far more pathetic and surprised than Jim had intended, but he lifts his chin and meets Gaila’s eyes despite her incredulous expression.

“Well- what did you say?” he prompts, when she says nothing else.

“I said you were fine. You just swapped shifts. And then I got him his refill and left him alone.”

“He had a refill? Goddamnit.”

Figures. Jim missed the closest thing to a conversation the guy’s had in months.

Still, the next morning, Jim’s there, bright and early, ready to go, coffee on, kitchen clean. He’s going to get his shit together and say something today. Nothing’s going to stop him.

The guy doesn’t come in.

Jim’s feeling weirdly fragile by the time Gaila takes over.

“You’re insane,” she tells him brightly, and she doesn’t yell at him when he takes an extra fifteen minutes on his break, and she pats him on the back as he leaves, her expression sympathetic.

Jim does his best to smile back. He really has to get a grip but going and getting drunk first seems pretty appealing.

He goes out, has a few beers, vaguely attempts to make new friends with strangers but finds his heart’s not in it. So he has a few more beers.

When he staggers into work the next morning he’s feeling awful, has only had maybe three hours sleep, is beginning to remember why he doesn’t go out and get drunk anymore. On autopilot, he manages the usual morning tasks, makes a couple of breakfasts with something resembling enthusiasm, pours coffee.

It’s alright that maybe he’s missed the opportunity to get to know someone. He’s probably delusional anyway, thinking they could have something together; the sort of guy who visits a diner every morning looking like shit and the guy who works there feeling worse. It was just kind of nice to have something to look forward to, for a while. Something to aim for. Something that, unlike having a proper job and being able to afford a decent apartment and saving money, might actually be attainable.

“Hi guys, what can I- uhh. I’m sorry. What can I get you?”

He has no idea what his expression is doing but he possibly looks like he’s having a stroke, because that, sat there, wearing a button-down shirt, freshly shaven, hair styled, looking like approximately a third of fantasies Jim has ever had, is the guy.

Next to him is a young girl who can only be his daughter. The resemblance is startling. Heartbreaking.

And Jim looks worse than ever. Fuck. He thinks he’s maybe going to cry. Somehow he manages to hold it together while the guy orders poached eggs and toast and his daughter –“what do you want, Jo-Jo?”- requests pancakes.

“With fruit?” Jim asks.

“Please,” the guys says, and he smiles, and there are still shadows beneath his eyes but he’s utterly, impossibly gorgeous.

“Dad! I want syrup!”

“Then what do you say?”

“Can- may I please have syrup, with those?”

“You got it. And coffee?” Jim’s voice cracks on the last word. Fuck.

“Please.”

“And orange juice, please.” 

“Coming right up.”

Jim smiles, collects menus in shaking hands, walks away, slams through the door to the kitchen and braces himself against the wall, sinks to the floor to have a really very small cry. He’s never drinking again.

And then he starts pancakes and eggs and pours coffee and then plates up and the pancakes have a smiley face on them made out of fruit because he’s sad, alright, but he’s not an animal, and there’s a small jug of syrup on the side instead of giving a child the whole container because he knows how that ends.

And the guy smiles at him like he’s made his day, and then his expression creases in concern when he actually looks at Jim who has to go and make another pot of coffee, immediately.

And then he has to mop up the coffee that’s overflowed all over the floor.

On the bright side, there’s not enough time for more crying. Jim’s almost holding it together by the time he’s done, and the floor needed cleaning anyway, and who doesn’t like the smell of coffee?

“Need a refill?” he even manages to ask in a slightly shrill approximation of a cheery tone.

“No, thank you.”

Jesus fuck. What’s Jim done? Who doesn’t need two coffees when they’re looking after a kid? Even if that kid is presently absorbed in something on her dad’s phone.

“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can-“

“There is one thing.”

“Uhh-“ Jim meets suddenly intent eyes, feels his heart skip a beat.

“I don’t need another cup right now, but- I usually have another in the afternoon, about two. Could I buy you one too?”

“Uhh-“

“Just- if you’re free.”

“Uhh-“ shit, fuck, Jim needs to get it together, damnit! This is everything he wants and this man he’s wanted for what feels like forever suddenly look so uncertain. “I’d love to.”

It takes a moment for that rushed, slurred attempt at words to be translated but when it is, he earns a smile. Jim maybe returns it. He kind of blacks out a little, mentally, is only vaguely sure he agrees to meet back here later that day.

“I’d been having a shitty time,” the guy says, later, sat on a park bench next to Jim, both hands wrapped around a takeout cup, his daughter safely delivered to school. “The divorce was- rough. The custody battle was worse. I thought I was never gunna see my daughter again. My father died. I ended up working the night shifts because those were the only times I was too busy to think. And they meant I couldn’t just drink myself into oblivion every evening.

“I was too tired to cook one morning so I stopped by the diner. And- God help me. I hadn’t given a shit what I looked like in months and the waiter was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. I felt like I didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as him. But I couldn’t stop going back. And seeing him. And wondering what the heck I was supposed to say to someone who was working so hard and still managed to find a smile for the asshole who would barely acknowledge him.

“I started to look forward to those mornings. To- genuinely want my shift to be over, so I could come and not talk to you and- wish I could have more than one cup of coffee without talking myself into an anxiety attack.

“And then yesterday, I went to court and- shared custody. Half the holidays. I have a week off. And then I’m gunna ask for the day shift again. Get my life back on track. Have a life at all, instead of just existing.”

It’s a lot to take in. Jim’s mind got stuck kind of early on, though- “You think I’m hot?”

The guy -Jim should probably remind him he hasn’t yet mentioned his name, at any point- snorts.

“’Cause I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too. I just- you know, I work in a diner and I can barely afford my rent, and I don’t really seem to do anything but work and it’s never enough, but- I looked forward to seeing you. Even though you never had a refill. We do decaf, you know.”

“Well I didn’t want you to have to put on an extra pot, just for me-“

Jim kisses him. It’s stupid, and ridiculous, and he smells like the kitchen of a diner, but he can’t wait any more, just darts in and presses his lips to what he had actually thought was going to be the corner of a lovely mouth except the guy turns at exactly the right moment and it’s a proper kiss, no less so for being brief and unintentional.

And the guy says, “God, yes,” and kisses him back. He’s warm and his lips are soft and he tastes like coffee.

Jim’s in love.

They can worry about names later. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m also on [Tumblr](https://aishahiwatari.tumblr.com/)


End file.
